regret in soprano
december still feels like rain
on the pavement
making headlines
a deer caught in headlights
a car wreck in ash and bone
my ribcage
the new jerusalem
jesus in a streetcorner
mo[u]rning
regret in soprano
screaming my name in a botticelli song
grief in a hashtag
teardrops on my keyboard
stilla mascara all over his shirt
while i genuflect in the last pew
praying for you
Labels: poetry, rant
I blogged at
5:57 PM.
flowers in the backseat
i’m all
dressed up in tragedy – a black shirt underneath my hoodie and skinny jeans to
hide the bruises on my legs with a pair of mismatched socks and overused sneakers
with fading silver sparkles. my dad removed the laces because i was in the
hospital for 10 days and i might have other dangerous thoughts. the graffiti of
sunshine tattoos itself upon my skin, rendering me almost blind as i stare at
it for a few seconds. i blow a kiss to the sky, signifying the end of november.
poetry has committed suicide like moonlight, jumping in precarious angles on
the pages of my wallpaper. your voice resembles windchimes, whispering inside
my ear like an acoustic lullaby.
Labels: letters to you
I blogged at
5:54 PM.
b e n d i t a .
it’ so cold here. the sun is
dying in the horizon as it genuflects before the mayhem. chaos abounds. all the
doors are open, yet my breath runs away with the rain. i yearn to be with you. i
see you in tinted cars, your shadow reflecting another face. i see you in the
corner of my eye as you pass me by. you murmur words like mysteries of the
rosario. the water used to taste like acid but now, tastes like agua bendita. the
voices say it will sanctify me. i sit on the river’s edge, trying hard to just
will everything to fade away. golden light surrounds me. it makes me remember. you.
me. everything you say it will be. you yearn to escape the chains around me.
but it brings us closer. it is the only remnant of what i feel is the end.
Labels: letters to you
I blogged at
5:52 PM.
xxiii
i lost my voice, my ability to speak
metaphors out loud, hanging
with the bile inside my throat
i spit poetry like skyscrapers in china
the way i almost lost you
i wonder why we busy ourselves
with routine, without prayer
when most of the time
religion is a catchphrase
to attain freedom
like birds in cages
singing their ave maria’s in the dark
words bursting at the seams
not quite an eclipse
be quiet, be still
as the lady on the moon
laments outside our windowsills
the color yellow
reminds me of the time
you vomited sunlight
on stationery paper
piled the debris of your heart
in these little asphyxiations
like a noose around your neck
made up of rose petals
and silent conversations
lit by candles-
hot wax
on our fingers
until i
turn into a ghost
and fade
…into you
Labels: poetry, rant
I blogged at
5:47 PM.
name : tiara ruiz fernandez